


Maddeningly Polite

by mxgicdave



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Palace, Two tags i never thought i'd put together but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 05:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mxgicdave/pseuds/mxgicdave
Summary: Will feels just as trapped as the man in the cage.





	Maddeningly Polite

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an alternate timeline where Hannibal doesn't escape, and that conversation they have at the glass is their last. I love that scene and have an obvious bias for my favorite line in the show. I wrote this mad quick on a whim so apologies if theres any mistakes! Thanks and sorry in advance for homewrecker Hannibal lol :^)

_"Think about me, Will."_

That voice knocked around in his head. It had for years. At some point in knowing Hannibal, the man cemented himself in Will's narration, his deep and even accent ever reverberating right below Will's own inner voice.

But that phrase rang constant and clearly, nagging as if Hannibal were stood right behind him and not still locked away in a cell in Baltimore.

_"When life becomes maddeningly polite,"_

"Shut up." Will mutters, hand clenching around his fork. 

"Are you okay?"

Will squeezes his eyes closed for a second before letting them fall open with a sigh.

"I'm fine."

Molly shifts awkwardly in her chair. It had been almost a year since the incident. For a while they tried to make normal, and pretend the scars didn't still feel like fresh wounds.

But Will wanted to keep the house, and Molly wanted to move across the country. To be away from it all.

Maybe they'd always wanted different things.

It had been a year since the incident, but only a month since they'd filed for divorce. 

Will slept in the spare room. They'd stopped attempting to make things work.

Of course Will was sad. He was angry. He pressed his palm to his forehead in defiance every time Hannibal's voice needled him about being right.

He was right. As much as Will wished he wasn't, this life had never fulfilled him the way...

The way Hannibal's mere presence ever had.

He sat up in his bed, rubbing the back of his neck and remembering.

Remembering strong hands with soft skin, a thumb across his cheek.

_"Think about me, Will."_

Will had stopped trying to make things work with Molly when he'd look down at her in bed and see a pair of cold, brown eyes staring up at him; feel those same strong hands pulling his hips closer. 

She stopped trying when she realized who's name bubbled to Will's lips at every climax.

Molly never said anything about it, and neither did Will.

Once the sex stopped, intimacy suffered, and the more they realized any platonic joy they'd found in one another had been poisoned, if it had ever really been pure to start with.

Yet they never yelled or fought or stormed out on one another. An occasional harsh but hushed word, but mostly just distance.

Their relationship had been built on the desire for normalcy, a bandaid on a troubling wound. What could've festered, simply turned them into strangers.

Will guessed he was thankful it wasn't worse. Even this hollowness was only temporary until the house matters were settled and all the papers had been signed. 

Maddeningly polite.

_"Think about me, Will."_

Will lay back on to his pillow and drew his knees up under the sheets. When he closed his eyes he could sill see Hannibal's face down to its tiniest detail.

It was as if the man lived inside him, they had their own world within his mind.

Will let out a deep breath and wondered if it was the same for Hannibal. If by some crazy magic of the universe he saw the same pictures in his mind. That the words Will heard were truly his, not just memories on a loop.

It was unfathomable, but admittedly not the craziest thing to cross his mind.

"I miss you." He admits to his ceiling. Feeling more alone than usual in the barren room.

It's different to say it out loud.

"I miss you." He repeats it, voice hushed; not afraid that someone will hear, but because it feels too personal, too raw.

Will closes his eyes and wets his lips.

Behind his eyes is a scene is no less frustrating.

Hannibal stands, encased in glass, ever out of reach. Will's hand remains, leaving fingerprint stains over his heart.

Would things have been different if Hannibal had reached out to meet him? Would that act shatter the room around them, let them be free, let them admit whatever _this_ was?

He can only ever wonder.

_"Do you long for touch, Will?"_

His breath hitches in his throat. In his mind, he keeps his hand on the glass. 

_"Or is it my touch specifically?"_

Will's eyes snap open, and he feels warm. He'd fallen asleep, and a few hours had passed in what felt like seconds.

"It's always yours." He whispers to the dark.

His eyes stay trained ahead, letting the shapes in his peripherals form what they please in hopes that one will be Hannibal or one of his many forms.

He always finds his way to Will, one way or another.

_"Is that so?"_

He asks it as a question, but Will knows it's a smug statement.

He brings his hand down to the waistband of his boxers, fingers rubbing past the coarser hair below his belly button.

_"Who knew that a simple touch, or rather, it's deprival, could affect you like this."_

Will's fingers feel warmth, he strokes himself, slowly letting his body relax.

_"I cannot blame you, Will. I consider myself a creature of contact."_

Hannibal steps closer to the glass, Will feels a twitch in his hips.

_"Skin to skin is one of the basic pillars of human life. We require touch from our family, our friends, our lovers."_

"Lovers..." Will mumbles out.

_"How have you interpreted my touch, Will?"_

Hannibal's hands are folded behind his back. Ever elusive, ever frustrating.

Will rubs at himself with a little more urgency.

_"Is there meaning behind they way my hands lingered, as yours does now?"_

Will lets his eyelids droop, his legs twisting a bit from sensation. He again thinks of Hannibal's hands on his face, through his hair, across his fingers.

He'd like to feel them between his thighs.

A ragged breath escapes him, as he feels himself edge closer.

"Please, Hannibal."

Will feels just as trapped as the man in the cage. Something always comes between them, be it glass or law or morals. There is always something.

_"I cannot give you what you want, Will. You know that."_

"Please." He all but begs. "I need you."

Hannibal's eyes fall to the hand on the glass. The what if.

Will feels himself continue to plead, a white noise starting to blanket his thoughts as he brings himself closer.

Hannibal reaches out and meets Will's touch, and in that moment, Will swears he can feel hot breath on his face, another's touch between his legs, and he comes.

_"I still prefer the real thing."_

Will's chest heaves as he recovers, voices quieting in his head and pictures fading for now. He hears crickets outside, and a draft starts to feel cool on his sweat-beaded skin.

He pulls his hand from beneath the sheets and stares at it in the moonlight for a moment, processing what was and wasn't real.

"When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me." He repeats to himself. 

Hannibal is his broken record, he thinks, and when all these niceties are done with, maybe he will make the drive in to Baltimore with new purpose in mind.


End file.
